


Before the Dragon

by DABDA



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 06:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2538464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DABDA/pseuds/DABDA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is coming to Laketown, on leathery wings. The last chance for Tauriel to choose, and to make her choice known...</p>
<p>Takes place at the end of The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Dragon

The stench of the athelas filled my nostrils, but I could it ignore as long as I was watching the life return to Kíli's face. My own sense of relief took me by surprise; I had never before felt such concern for one not of my own kind. Indeed, as his strength returned enough to begin to curl his fingers around mine I was joyful, and smiled quite unguardedly.

Legolas appeared in the doorway. "Smaug is awake", he told the company. As he registered Kíli's hand in mine his periwinkle eyes narrowed just a fraction. I blenched, but did not let go.

The cries of the humans outside were thickening. Legolas brushed roughly past me and raced up the ladder in the corner of the room to make his survey from the bedroom window. In an urgent tone he called down to me, "Tauriel, come!"

I hesitated, looking at the dwarf who muttered such pretty things in his delirium. It ran against some deep instinct to relinquish him to the coming danger.

It seemed Legolas did not share my sentiment. He shouted my name again, then added, "Le nin awarthach an gwaur hadhod?" _Do you disregard me for a filthy dwarf?_ How he spoke like his father's son! I bided, irresolute; pulled taut between my duties.

"Tauriel, im len cennich. Si!" _I gave you an order. Now!_ He had, and I was sworn to obey him on at least two counts. I unentwined myself reluctantly from Kíli and climbed the ladder to face Legolas.

His eyes were blazing, his jaw clenched. His anger became him well. Yet, when he spoke, it was soft.

"I have desired you for a long time. Did you know this?"

I smothered a gasp. Yes, of course I had known, but I never thought to hear it from him. After what felt like a minute of staring dumbly at him, I whispered, "Yes."

"And I think that you desire me also. Is this correct?"

My whisper took even longer this time. Surely I could not confess myself to my commander and my prince? And yet he had spoken plainly to me, and so how could I lie in return?

As I answered him I dropped my gaze bashfully. He waited for me to find my courage and look up before he questioned me again.

"Tauriel, I do not wish to face fiery death without..." He licked his lips. "Knowing you better. Do you agree?"

I thought of Thranduil's last words to me. I thought of Smaug, and the slaughter to come. I nodded.

He kissed me with the force of a decade of yearning, his tongue stroking mine immediately; no time for niceties. I felt the passion sweep through me, silencing every doubt as it went. We moved as one to the larger of the two beds, pulling at buckles and laces. The smell of Bard and his children and musty straw wrapped itself around me as he kissed my neck roughly and exquisitely.

He paused to pull his tunic over his head and when he looked at me his eyes were so dark with lust they could have been an orc's. I felt mine glow the same as I ran my hand over his strong, smooth chest and shoulder and pulled him back towards me.

He yanked my undershirt open so that his naked skin pressed against mine, hot and cold at the same time, pulsing against me and away as our bodies writhed together. Before long I began to feel his arousal against my thigh, and it made me aware of my own. With a twitch of my leg I moved him toward my centre. He groaned into my chest as the heat and friction found its target. I had never heard him make a sound like that... But I had dreamt it, many times, and I needed to hear it again to be sure I was not dreaming still.

I unlaced his britches and slid my fingers around his swollen shaft. He moaned most gratifyingly. He saw me smile, and his eyes blazed at me again, I was not sure whether in admonition or complicity. He began to thrust so my hand moved up and down him and my wrist was pinned and ground against my own aching sex. Soon it was my turn to emit a gasp and now he smiled too.

So it was a tournament was it? Then I had more in my quiver. I slipped free and wriggled down his body, turning him onto his back in the process.

His cock, with its delicate golden fletch, stood proud from his stomach. The scent of him was dizzying, like petrichor. I wanted to linger, take my time, but there was none. Before he could react I had taken him deep in my mouth. "Aglar!" he cried. For a sliver of a moment I thought of Kíli downstairs, hearing a foreign but unmistakable cry of ecstasy, but Legolas was once again all my desire. I took him and released him, took him and released him, running my tongue around the head, watching him seize fistfuls of bedclothes as the pleasure mounted. I slid one hand between my own legs and began to touch myself as I had done so many nights, thinking of him, sleeping perhaps six feet away, yet never to be sullied with my commoner's body.

The other hand clutched his firm thigh. It was this hand that he grasped urgently, pulling me away from my reverie. "Time," he murmured, and I understood him perfectly. I could not now face the dragon, nor anything in the world, without having had him inside me. I quickly pulled off my own britches and boots, leapt forward to straddle him, and guided him inside.

We moaned in unison this time. As he took hold of my hips and we began to rock, he made contact with that blessed spot that my fingers could never reach. Quickly the sweet fires began to burn in my loins and my head, and smoulder up and smoulder down, and I knew when they met I would be undone.

He was watching me through hooded eyes, his breath ragged and racing, his face less haughty than I had ever seen it, the pulse of his pleasure clearly visible in his pinkened lips. I threw my head back and gripped his arms as my climax approached. He thrust harder into me, or perhaps I onto him, and the overwhelming feeling shot through my core and suffused all my senses with a warm and fragrant mist.

I fell forward over him helplessly, gasping as if in pain as our rhythm prolonged the intense pleasure, until he began to stutter. I observed at close hand how his moonlight-pale skin flushed and his flawless brow knotted as he spent himself inside me.

We gradually slowed to a pause, our breaths co-mingling, our gazes locked. I wondered what to say, and could tell he too was searching for something apt. _I am an arrow in your hand; put me to your bow and use me. I will die tonight, and my death will be yours._ What mere speech could say that as purely as we had just said it to each other?

That was the moment a dwarfish axe hit the door jamb. Without a word, we reached for our bows and went to fight the fire.

**Author's Note:**

> The Sindarin is probably doggerel, but I enjoyed trying to piece it together! Apologies to any quasi-linguists who were offended.


End file.
